Airports can be stressful, and they’re made even more so when something unexpected happens. One morning at Gate 17 of a busy international airport, a father stood in line, holding his little daughter’s hand tightly. The kid’s eyes shone with excitement, curious about the complexities of air travel. The man, however, wore a look of concern. He handed over their passports and travel documents to the airline agent.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but your daughter will need her own ticket for the flight,” the agent explained.

The father’s face turned pale. He had assumed that his 2-year-old daughter’s age exempted (免除) her from needing a separate ticket. The cost of the extra ticket was $749-a sum he hadn’t accounted for. He attempted to explain his situation, but the rules were clear, and the agent’s hands were tied. The father left the counter, excusing himself to make a few phone calls. He needed to figure out a solution, his mind racing to find a way to secure his daughter’s seat on the flight.

As he paced up and down in the hall and made one call after another, a gentle voice broke through his trouble. “Excuse me,” a stranger said softly, standing before the airline counter. The agent looked at her, not sure if she was a fellow traveler or a friend of the father’s family. The woman said, “I would like to pay for the little girl’s ticket.” The agent was accustomed to dealing with a variety of passengers and their unique challenges, but this time she was momentarily taken aback by the woman’s unexpected offer. Her eyes shifted from the woman to the father, who was still on the phone.

Then, with a nod, she turned back to her computer and processed the transaction (业务) . Soon, the transaction was complete and the agent handed the lady’s credit card back.

The father ended his call and returned to the counter with a heavy heart.

Tears welled up in the father’s eyes after he heard the woman’s kind words.

After flying all night, I was tired as I arrived in Denver to hold an event on positive thinking. As I entered the lecture hall, Dr. Fred Vogt asked me, “Do you know about the Make-A-Wish Foundation?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well, a 17-year-old girl Amy Graham has been diagnosed as having terminal (晚期的) cancer. Doctors gave her three days. Her dying wish was to attend your lecture.”

I was shocked. I felt a combination of awe and doubt. I couldn’t believe it. I thought kids who were dying would want to go see Disneyland, or suchlike. Why would a kid with only a few days to live want to spend their final days listening to a motivational speaker? Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted…

“Here’s Amy.” Before me stood a girl wearing a bright red hat to cover her head, which was bald from all of the treatments. Her weak body was a bit bent. She said, “My two goals were to graduate from high school and to attend your lecture. My doctors didn’t believe I could do either and they didn’t think I’d have enough energy. I have to rely on my parents now.”

Tears welled in my eyes; I was choked up. My mind was being shaken. I cleared my throat and smiled, “Thanks for wanting to come.” We hugged, wiped our eyes and separated.

That Sunday afternoon I held the workshop that Amy and her parents attended. The audience was packed to overflowing with over a thousand attendees eager to learn, grow and become more fully human. I humbly asked the audience if they wanted to learn a healing process that might serve them for life. From the stage it appeared that everyone’s hand was raised high in the air. I taught the audience how to vigorously (用力地) rub their hands together, separate them by two inches and feel the healing energy. Then I paired them off with a partner to feel the healing energy from themselves to another, explaining that everyone had healing potential to support others.

At that point an idea struck me.

With a round of applause, Amy’s dad led her off the stage.

“It’s a perfect day for fishing!” Michael heard his father, Andrew, say as he set up their equipment on the bank of a river. “Yeah!” Michael responded. Once Andrew finished setting up, they sat down to fish.

Michael gladly looked at the river, where the waves waved in and out every so often. It was peaceful there. “Next time, we can also swim here,” the boy told his father, who nodded in agreement. Then, they kept silent in case the noise scared the fish away.

An hour later, Andrew’s phone rang. “Hello?” he answered, and after listening for a few seconds, he pulled the phone down to look at Michael. “Son, this is an important call. I’m going to be by the trees over there. Be careful.”

Andrew walked a few steps away, and Michael watched him until he saw his dad pacing around the same spot. The little boy then watched their fishing poles carefully in case there was any movement.

But something strange caught Michael’s attention. From a distance, he saw something moving in the water, and at first, he thought someone was swimming. But soon enough, the boy realized it was a dog, and the poor pet appeared to have been caught in a current that started pulling it away. “Oh, no! Dad! Dad!” Michael shouted, but Andrew couldn’t hear his cries from that distance. The current started pulling the dog further, and Michael panicked. He had no idea what to do and wanted to run to his father, but he stopped when he spotted a swim ring among their equipment.

Andrew brought it in case Michael wanted to swim, although their plan was always to just fish. The little boy stared at it, looked up, and saw the dog still struggling. Thinking it might be drowning (淹死), he made a very quick decision.

Taking the swim ring and taking off his shoes, Michael ran toward the water and started swimming to reach the dog. His mother took him to swimming lessons every week, so he considered himself good. However, he had yet to go through such deep water, which was scary.

I met Gunter on a cold, wet and unforgettable evening in September. I had planned to fly to Vienna and take a bus to Prague for a conference. Due to a big storm, my flight had been delayed by an hour and a half. I touched down in Vienna just 30 minutes before the departure of the last bus to Prague. The moment I got off the plane, I ran like crazy through the airport building and jumped into the first taxi on the rank without a second thought.

That was when I met Gunter. I told him where I was going, but he said he hadn't heard of the bus station. I thought my pronunciation was the problem, so I explained again more slowly, but he still looked confused. When I was about to give up, Gunter fished out his little phone and rang up a friend. After a heated discussion that lasted for what seemed like a century, Gunter put his phone down and started the car.

Finally, with just two minutes to spare we rolled into the bus station. Thankfully, there was a long queue (队列) still waiting to board the bus. Gunter parked the taxi behind the bus, turned around, and looked at me with a big smile on his face. "We made it," he said.

Just then I realised that I had zero cash in my wallet. I flashed him an apologetic smile as I pulled out my Portuguese bankcard. He tried it several times, but the card machine just did not play along. A feeling of helplessness washed over me as I saw the bus queue thinning out.

At this moment, Gunter pointed towards the waiting hall of the bus station. There, at the entrance, was a cash machine. I jumped out of the car, made a mad run for the machine, and popped my card in, only to read the message: "Out of order. Sorry."

I ran back to Gunter and told him the bad news.

Four days later, when I was back in Vienna, I called Gunter as promised.

To some people, the sizzle and clatter of restaurant kitchens might be like an orchestra; to me, such sounds behind the swinging doors just meant chaos. However unpleasant I felt the places were, I decided to apply for a part-time job at a popular restaurant. The reason was simple: I needed money. I wanted to join a camping trip to the Blue Mountains with my friends, but that would cost about 150 dollars. “You have to pay for entertainment by yourself,” my parents said.

So I applied, and Mr. Smith, the boss of the restaurant, allowed me to have a try. My job was super easy and boring: the newly prepared dishes would be put at the counter between the kitchen and dining room, and it was my duty to deliver them to the right customers.

The first few days were tiring but OK. However, setbacks soon followed as I struggled to keep pace during a particularly busy lunch rush. I awkwardly spilled a tray of drinks, making loud noises and the floor messy. I was embarrassed and began to feel nervous. One evening, I mixed up orders for a large party, causing chaos and frustration.

I felt desperate. I screwed everything up. Then I heard Mr. Smith call me, and I went into his office with my head low. To my surprise, he didn’t blame me. Instead, he made me a cup of coffee. “Relax, young man,” he said. “Try to smile. Things always go wrong if you can’t really enjoy what you’re doing. Feel the fun in the job, and you’ll be OK!”

I thought he was right. The next day when I was working, I glimpsed into the kitchen and was amazed: in the narrow and crowded space everyone was busy — the chefs swirling (翻动) pans, the manager yelling customers’ requirements, others coming and going with dishes to deliver — but everything went smoothly without any lumping or bumping. This was incredible!

My attitudes towards the restaurant job began to change.

On the last day of my contract, I went into Mr. Smith’s office again when I finished my job.